Sisters ... No Way!

by Siobhán Parkinson

  Poor Mum looked very strained, all through the meal. Richard tried to make her have a glass of wine. He should know better, in her condition. Alva and I were delighted to get out to the kitchen to do the washing up. I was terrified Cindy was going to offer to come with us to help, to give Mum and Richard a chance to be alone for a little while, but she didn’t. I don’t know whether she knows about the baby, and if she doesn’t it would be dreadful if Alva blurted it out.

  I brought the coffee in, and there was silence in the dining room. It wasn’t just that people weren’t talking. It was as if they’d never even met each other. It was the sort of silence you might get in a doctor’s waiting room, full of strangers with nothing to say to each other. I suggested Monopoly, to break the ice more than anything. Cindy’s eyes lit up, like a small child’s. Good, I thought, I’ve hit on something that she likes.

  You can be banker, Alva said to Cindy, very generously, I thought, as she unfolded the board.

  She was banker and she cheated. We could all see her at it, but she did it just the same. She won hands down, naturally. We were glad to see them go.

  Tuesday 2nd September

  Alva bought me a present yesterday. I was doing my homework in my room and she came in with her eyes all shining, saying she had bought me something really special. She said it was an unbirthday present, and it was to thank me for putting up with her lately. I was delighted. I thought it might be a box of Roses or something like that. But it was a poster of Boyzone, identical to the one she has in her own room! Alva was so pleased with herself that I couldn’t disappoint her by appearing to be unimpressed. I thanked her profusely and propped the rolled-up poster against my chest of drawers, hoping she would go away and forget all about it, but she arrived back in a few moments with a packet of blu-tack and insisted on putting it up herself, right over my bed. She even took down the reproduction of Monet’s water-lilies that I had there, and put it on the opposite wall. Oh well, at least I don’t have to look at Boyzone while I’m in bed, and it’s rather nice to have the water-lilies on the opposite wall, where I can enjoy them before I go to sleep.

  Wednesday 3rd September

  My head feels like a fizz-bag this evening. It began with Alva saying she hoped Mum wasn’t going to marry Richard.

  I said I thought that wasn’t very likely, at least not for the present. I said that Mum didn’t approve of people getting married just because they are pregnant. Alva said that was young people. She said older people made different rules for themselves and for young people. She said wouldn’t it be awful to have the noxious Cindy for a sister.

  When she said that I felt as if I’d been stabbed. Not stabbed, exactly. It wasn’t a sharp feeling. More as if I’d been thumped, maybe, but hard. She’d only be a stepsister, I said at last, and as I said it I realised I was gasping.

  Yes, but we’d all have to live together, Alva said.

  Oh come on, Alva, I said, trying to act cheerful. Don’t go looking for trouble. There is no evidence whatsoever that they are thinking about getting married. Look on the bright side. Think about the baby. Won’t it be lovely?

  It might look like Cindy, Alva said gloomily.

  I hadn’t thought about that. I hadn’t thought of the baby as being related to Cindy. I had imagined it as belonging to us, just us three. I suppose I had imagined Richard sort of hovering benignly in the background, but not Cindy. I hadn’t reckoned on Cindy.

  The idea that the baby would be related to Cindy made me feel very strange. It was like when you are watching a film, and there’s a spooky bit, and they play spooky music, a chromatic scale or something, so you know it’s something spooky. I felt as if my mother had an alien child growing inside her. That made me want to wrap myself up in my own family and exclude everyone else.

  Poor Bob. I know I have been very unfair on him, breaking up with him twice in the space of a few weeks, but I had exactly the same feeling when I thought about Cindy and the baby that I got that night in the bowling alley. I felt out of place and claustrophobic and confused all at the same time, and I felt I just couldn’t cope with anyone outside of me, Mum and Alva. So I rang Bob up after I’d finished my homework and asked him to come out for a walk.

  We walked around our housing estate, trying to talk. We kept meeting people out with their dogs or going for a run or calling their children in for bed, and they all wanted to stop and talk. I think the neighbours know something is going on in our family and are trying to find out what it is. They don’t usually want to engage me in long heart-to-hearts about the weather. We met Joan Merrigan, hurrying back from the local shops with one of those long narrow paper bags they put wine in, only I think it was gin, and she stopped and asked very particularly after Mum, and gave me a deep, meaningful look. Maybe that’s not true. Maybe it was just Joan being her usual breathy, over-wrought self. Am I going paranoid or what?

  Anyway, in between all these interruptions, I tried to explain it all to Bob, how I felt, but this time he was angry as well as upset, and I felt I deserved his anger. He said I had used him as an emotional prop when things had got too much for me – and I couldn’t argue with that. It was true. I had. But I said it would be dishonest to go on using him, and if I didn’t break up with him now, that’s what I would be doing. He didn’t seem to see it that way, but he didn’t argue any more. He walked back with me as far as my gate without another word. Then he said good night very curtly and walked quickly away, without even a token kiss. I thought something inside me was going to burst as I watched his back receding down the cul-de-sac. I wanted to call out that I was sorry and would he please come back, but I knew that if I did that I’d only do the same again in another few weeks. I knew for sure this time that I just couldn’t cope with my relationship with Bob on top of everything else in my life. But I felt very sad, and I wanted to cry, but tears wouldn’t come.

  Saturday 6th September

  Well, Alva was right and I was wrong. Mum and Richard are engaged! Mum even has a ring. She showed it to us yesterday. It’s a very narrow band of white gold, with several tiny diamonds studded into it, very pretty and very understated. But she is keeping it in its little velvet box in a drawer in her room, because it’s not ‘official’ yet. It seems pretty official to me, if there’s a ring, but I think when she says it’s not official what she means is that Cindy doesn’t know.

  Alva didn’t say anything when Mum showed us the ring. I tried to say something enthusiastic, but I don’t know if it came out right. Afterwards, Alva said to me that she hopes Cindy will go away to university soon. She means that if Mum and Richard get married, we’ll all have to live together. There’s not much room here, so presumably we will have to go and live with them. I’d hate that. I grew up in this house. I’m fond of it. It’s home.

  But I told Alva there wasn’t much chance of Cindy moving out of home, just for our convenience. I tried to get her to see it from Cindy’s point of view. I said we would all have to put up with the situation, and that maybe we would get on much better when we knew each other better. Alva just tapped the table when I said all this, and listened with her eyebrows raised. Sometimes I could shake her, she is so exasperating.

  But if I’m honest, I have to say that the best thing about this engagement is the ring. That’s really not a very cheering thought.

  I heard Alva crying in her room again last night.

  Tuesday 9th September

  I’ve just had an awful thought. Suppose Alva decides to go and live with Dad? Or rather, decides she wants to go and live with him. He wouldn’t have her. He wouldn’t even have her for a day that time she wanted to go over there to avoid having to meet Richard. I hope she doesn’t even think of it, because she would be devastated if he said no.

  Friday 12th September

  I went into Mum’s room in my dressing gown last night, before I went to bed. She was already in bed, reading a detective story. It was very difficult in the beginning. I couldn’t very well start by saying, Well, Mum, t
his engagement of yours is the problem. But of course she knew, she always knows. She put down her book, patted a spot near the edge of the bed for me to sit on, and started by saying: I am sure my engagement to Richard is difficult for you, Ashling.

  I sat down with a bump and said: Oh no, no, of course not. It’s Alva.

  But of course it wasn’t just Alva.

  Mum sighed that special quality of sigh she reserves for matters concerning Alva, and she said: It’s partly because of Alva that we are getting married.

  Well, that really takes the biscuit, I thought.

  Because of Alva! I yelped.

  Mum smiled slightly and said: Yes, I know, it sounds ridiculous. I know Alva thinks this is pure selfishness.

  Oh no, no, I cut in loyally, but Mum put up a hand to stop me and went on.

  Look Ashling, I can tell you what’s going on, because you are older and more mature, but you are not to tell this to Alva, right?

  I couldn’t answer. It was as if my tongue had grown into the roof of my mouth. What revelation was going to come now? What more could there be? I nodded.

  You know your father has been going through a bad patch, Mum said.

  Dad! What on earth had Dad to do with it?

  Well, Mum went on, it’s more than a bad patch. I think it’s something closer to a nervous breakdown, actually. But whatever it is, he has become extremely agitated about my relationship with Richard. Don’t ask how he found out. These things get around, it’s a small city. Anyway, he started to threaten me that he would sue me for custody of you two, although I think actually you are old enough in law to make up your mind, it’s really Alva this would apply to. I laughed at him at first. But he was dead serious. He said he would have me declared an unfit mother.

  My tongue finally broke free of the roof of my mouth and I let out a cry of No, no, Mum!

  Mum put a hand up again, and she went on talking, as if she had something she had to get to the end of.

  I know, I know, it’s ridiculous, and as things stood six months ago, he wouldn’t have had a leg to stand on. But if I had a baby, it is just possible that a very conservative judge might agree with him. It’s not all that likely, but it is a possibility I have to think about.

  But he has a baby and he’s not married, I said.

  Mum gave a crooked smile and said: Have you never heard of double standards? And anyway, he’s in what’s called a ‘stable relationship’.

  And you’re not? I asked, incredulously.

  Well, I can’t prove it. And I haven’t known Richard very long. It just doesn’t look good.

  I could see her point. It looked terrible, actually, when you thought about it like that.

  Look, Mum said, more cheerfully, the chances of his being able to take Alva away from me, from us, are pretty slim, particularly when you consider how unstable he is himself. But I don’t want him to be in a position even to start threatening something like that. I am not putting this family through that sort of emotional battle. And I am quite sure that if I am safely married off to somebody else, then Philip wouldn’t dream of making a fuss. He’s like that, old-fashioned.

  But Mum, I said, that’s not a very good reason for you to marry Richard.

  It is, Mum said, it’s a very good reason indeed, the best reason I can think of. But I agree that if that was the only reason, it would be a very poor basis for a marriage. There is the fact that I love Richard, too. I think that counts for something as well.

  I hugged her then and while I hugged her, I whispered, Congratulations! in her ear.

  Thanks, she whispered back. Then she said, still in a whisper: You do like Richard, don’t you, Ashling?

  I nodded. But I had to be honest, so as I drew back, I added: It’s the noxious Cindy I’m concerned about.

  Noxious! Mum said, pretending to be shocked.

  It’s Alva’s word for her, I said. And it’s accurate.

  I’m sorry, love, Mum said then. I’m truly sorry. I know Cindy is a bit of a thorn in the side. But we have to forgive her a lot. It’s very hard for her too. And she has just lost her mother. If I could think of a way of doing this without messing you all up, I would. I was prepared to give him up, you know that. But the baby has really put the tin hat on it.

  Poor baby, I said. We have to stop thinking about him as a problem. He won’t have much of a start in life if we think of him as a stumbling block.

  What makes you think it will be a he? Mum asked, with that delighted smile mothers have when people talk about their babies.

  I dunno, I said. But I do know. I’m hoping for a little boy, because I don’t want yet another new sister – Cindy is quite enough to contend with – but mainly because I am hoping for a little brother like Gavin, only this time, one we can have at home. Poor little Gavin. I hope he’s OK.

  I had a very strong desire to ring Bob up this morning before school, just to say hi. But I knew that I didn’t really just want to say hi. What I really wanted was to tell him all the latest developments and see what he thought. But I can’t do that. It wouldn’t be fair to him. And anyway, my family life is not a soap opera for relaying in instalments to other people.

  Friday 19th September

  Well, it’s official now. The wedding date has been set for the twentieth of October. Cindy has been told. We didn’t put a notice in the paper. I think that would have been fun. Alva and I could have announced it, the way people’s parents usually do, but Mum put her foot down. I think she doesn’t want Dad finding out until it’s all over and done with.

  Mum has started to wear her ring, just in the evenings, though, not to school. She’s starting to show, just a little. She can’t wear those little slimline skirts she usually wears any more. It’s all starting to feel more real.

  Sunday 28th September

  Mum and I went shopping for maternity clothes for her yesterday. The proper maternity shops are way too expensive, so we just went to the department stores instead and looked at dresses in huge sizes. We bought two dresses, one more awful than the other, but Mum insisted that it didn’t matter, it was only for a few months. We went for a cup of coffee afterwards (my treat, Mum wouldn’t dream of spending money in a café when you could have a perfectly good cup of coffee at home for a quarter of the price). While we were having our coffee, I opened up the bags and shook out the dresses. We had bought them in different weights, one for now, while the weather is still quite mild, in viscose, and one really voluminous one in wool that she can put a few layers under for extra warmth, for when the weather is very cold. Mum keeps saying you don’t need to be very warmly dressed when you are pregnant because the baby keeps you warm. I find that very hard to believe. Anyway, the dresses are far too long for Mum, because they are meant for much larger women, so we will have to spend a few nights taking them up. No matter what we do with them, they are going to look ghastly.

  As I was looking despairingly at them, it suddenly occurred to me: Mum, I yelped in anguish. You can’t possibly get married in one of these!

  Why not? Mum asked, unconcernedly.

  Because they are hick, they are dowdy, they are perfectly dreadful.

  It doesn’t matter, Mum said. It’s only going to be a registry office wedding, very low key, it doesn’t matter what I wear.

  Well, I never heard such rubbish. A woman who doesn’t care what she looks like on her wedding day!

  Think of the photographs, Mum! I said. Think about yourself in twenty years time, looking back at your wedding day. You won’t want Fido there to be embarrassed when he looks at his parents’ wedding photos.

  Wedding photos! Mum said, astonished, as if I had said ‘wedding helicopter’.

  Yes, Mum, people take photographs of these occasions, I said.

  Well, we don’t have to do that. It’s going to be very–

  Low key, yes, that’s fine, and we don’t need to get a professional in or anything, but we have to have at least a few snaps. You have Fido to think about now. It’s going to be part o
f his family history.

  Stop calling it Fido, Mum said.

  Stop changing the subject, I said. Next week we are coming back into town, and we are going to buy you something decent to wear for your wedding.

  No, Ashling, Mum said, please, no.

  Just then, Bob appeared beside our table balancing a tray with a teapot and two cups. He was with his friend Gerard. Gerard was carrying a motor-cycle helmet. He must have got a bike.

  Hi Ashling, Bob said. Hi, Mrs Magee.

  Well, hello, Bob! Mum said, delightedly.

  I started to pull the chair next to mine out, for him to sit on, but after he’d said hi, Bob walked on, carrying his tray, and Gerard nodded at the two of us and followed him. They sat at a table miles away, the furthest away table they could find.

  Mum looked at me. I don’t know how I looked, but I felt like the only child in the class that hasn’t been picked for the football team.

  Come on, Ashling, Mum said. Let’s go.

  Wednesday 8th October

  There’s been a bit of a row about the wedding. I suppose there always is about weddings. Mum wanted me and Alva to be bridesmaids, but Richard said that wouldn’t be fair, unless Cindy could be too. Mum said of course Cindy could be, but then Richard said Cindy didn’t want to be. So Mum said that was fine, she didn’t have to be, that Alva and I would do it. But then Richard said that if Cindy wasn’t going to be a bridesmaid, then we shouldn’t be either.

  But she doesn’t want to be a bridesmaid, Richard, Mum said.

  I know, I know, Richard said. But I still don’t think it would be right for Ashling and Alva to do it if Cindy can’t.

  Won’t, Mum said, very sharply.

  Isn’t, Richard said.

  Mum gave in. Alva was furious with her. I said it didn’t matter, but Alva said it mattered dreadfully, it was our mother getting married and we were being refused the right to be her witnesses because of a stuck-up, spoilt, noxious bitch.